Sidelines
THROUGH sloppy mud and under warm lights, they continue to hold on with all they've got. Gridiron dreams
live on in semi-proInto the night, they continue to play.
Football! Grown men, hitting and tackling and cursing, just as they did years ago. And here they are again. Battered and bruised and happy. They are back with their old love.
They shout and scowl and carry on, but don't be fooled. They cherish every second. They know that their playing days should be long behind them, that every moment here is stolen.
It's easy to be skeptical. This is "semi-pro" football. "Semi-pro" is usually another word for "Nobody's getting paid."
(Although at $7 at the gate and $4 for a hot dog, mini chips and soda at Saturday night's game between the Windward Hawks and Hawaiian Warriors in Kailua, you never know.)
The play is uneven. Sometimes good. Sometimes not so good.
Some are good players. Some once were. Some could be.
A few have speed. Many have size. Some even have both.
And none of them are kidding around.
Not the coaches, not the players, not the fans (wives, moms, aunties) screaming for blood.
Not the cheerleaders, who want to be cheerleaders again so badly that they're here, at a semi-pro game, wearing skimpy outfits in the rain, in front of bleachers scattered with about 100 people.
But they're home. Feeling all the old feelings. Tingling all the old tinglings. They're back with an old love.
And there's nothing else like it.
There's no such thing as pick-up football.
Playing catch in the park isn't the same. Flag football isn't even in the same universe. You might as well be playing hopscotch. There is no substitute.
No, football is something you have to put behind you. Football is something you have to eventually let go.
But these men aren't letting go.
And maybe they should. It's not normal to ignore pain. It's not normal to run 40 yards downfield and hurl your body through another human being. (Wonderful, yes. Normal, no.) Maybe football should be something that you leave behind.
But still, there's something magical in their fierce grasp. Something noble in their struggle to hang on.
Why, one could almost be inspired to ...
BUT THEN you remember that football requires running.
That it took a good two years to recover from playing football the first time, and your body started to seriously decompose soon after that.
That going through life without any kind of serious knee surgery is a good thing.
That you can't play football from the Barcalounger.
That you might have pulled something yesterday tying your shoes.
That you and a group of friends once lost an official flag football tournament game to a bunch of guys who called timeout so they could smoke.
That after several years the old feelings have finally faded away. Most of the time.
It's hard to let go of an old love.
On Saturday, the Hawks and the Warriors held on for a few hours more.
Kalani Simpson's column runs Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays.
He can be reached at ksimpson@starbulletin.com